


Too Sexy

by Marmoset (smallet)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: Other, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-19
Updated: 1999-02-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallet/pseuds/Marmoset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to the Striptease Challenge on SENAD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Sexy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about 2 hours on a dare. I did run a spell-checker on it. It's really just a snippet but it's too long for SENAD.
> 
> Someone on SENAD made the challenge: Blair, tequila, a dining room table, and the song "I'm Too Sexy." This version is tame and not exactly what they had in mind. But this is what popped into my head when I read the lyrics.

## Too Sexy

by Marmoset

Author's disclaimer: The Sentinel, its characters and its universe are the property of its copyright holders. No copyright infringement is intended; I wrote this for fun, not profit.

* * *

Jim smiled. 

His roommate of the past few years lay sprawled across the bed, face down, not having so much as moved since he collapsed the night before. Sandburg wasn't likely to be able to move any time soon, Jim mused, nor was he likely to want to move for most of the upcoming day. 

Such was not the case last night. 

Last night, the two had gone to Catharine's to help her celebrate passing her orals. The party had begun with some semblance of decorum. Friendly chat. Wine, beer, nachos. Upbeat but muted background music. 

Then, someone made a punch laced with tequila. 

Jim had not been aware that his roommate and tequila were a volatile combination, until he heard the crash behind him. 

Whatever he had been saying about the Jags was lost to memory when he turned to see Sandburg swinging on a rope from a chandelier. 

Yes, Sandburg. The acrophobe. Up there. 

Swinging and then flying free -- looking like nothing less than a New Age Douglas Fairbanks, his shoulder-length hair whipping wildly behind him -- Blair landed on the balls of his feet on Catharine's cherry wood dining room table. 

Dead center. The landing, a perfect 10. 

Apparently, this flight had been planned in advance -- Jim inferring this from the fact that someone had shoved several plates of hors d'ouevres from table to floor to clear the landing zone for Air Blair's approach. 

Hence the crash. 

Whoever was at the stereo seemed to think this was an apt moment to crank up the volume on some weird song Jim vaguely recognized from some clothing ad on TV. 

About the time the singer started in on "Too sexy for my shirt," Sandburg shrugged out of his flannel shirt and, with a wild swing of his hips, flung it into the crowd. 

At this point, Jim laughed helplessly, tears streaming from his eyes, when he realized that Mr. Sexy still wore about 4 more shirts. 

At that moment, Sandburg caught his eye and grinning wickedly, stretched his arms over head, and began to sing the chorus. When he got to "I shake my little tushy on the catwalk," well, he did, and Jim was .. impressed. 

When the song ended, the crowd cheered wildly. But as the accolades died down, Catharine stepped forward to suggest that having guests dancing on her brand new dining room table was not exactly the thing she had in mind when she had imagined this particular celebration. 

Jim helped Blair down from his 'catwalk,' and soon realized that his roommate was really 'not among those present.' He could still stand. He could still form words. He could definitely giggle and wiggle. But clearly in the struggle between the tequila and Sandburg's powers of higher reasoning, the tequila had won round one. 

So Jim gave his thanks to the hostess, his eyes communicating his apologies on behalf of his buddy the catwalker. 

Jim had thought the bizarre portion of the evening's entertainment was over. This was not the case. 

For as they approached the truck, Sandburg began giggling hysterically. 

"Sandburg, what is it _now_?" 

And Sandburg began singing at the top of his lungs: 

You're too sexy for Cascade, too sexy for Cascade Tum-tum-ti-tum-tum  
You're so sexy, man, let's party  
I don't mean disco dancing 

<"Sandburg?">

You're too sexy for your truck  
Too sexy, man, let's-- 

**"SANDBURG!"**

"Huh?" 

"Keep it down, Chief, or I'll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace." 

"Do I get to wear handcuffs?," was all he said before passing out in Jim's arms. 

Jim wrestled him into the truck, then later into the loft and onto the sofa. He sat opposite his friend for a few minutes thinking over the night's activities, then made his decision. Hoisting Blair up over his shoulder, he carried him up the stairs and as gently as he was able, he lay him across his bed. Jim lay down alongside him and held him in protective arms. 

And that's where they remained all night. 

Until now. 

Jim smiled. 

Then he sang softly against Blair's cheek: 

"You're so sexy, Blair, my love; so sexy, Blair my love." 

And Blair slowly opened fuzzy eyes and regarded Jim's loving gaze a moment. His voice barely audible, he crooned: 

"Love won't ever leave us. 

We're more sexy than this song--" 

And hoping that soon they would soon sing another song, perhaps a wailing duet, Jim stopped his mouth the best way he knew how. 

\--finis-- 


End file.
